


A Day in the Life of The Mouse

by undeclaredmilk



Series: The Mouse in the Ministry [2]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 03:27:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20753576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeclaredmilk/pseuds/undeclaredmilk
Summary: What is the average day like for a mute janitor in the Ministry?





	A Day in the Life of The Mouse

**Up at dawn.** Not because of any rules or requirements, just old habits left over from public school days.

**Take a shower.** Almost nobody is awake at this hour except kitchen staff, so the showers on her floor are totally empty, and she doesn’t have to rush. She’s also very glad she doesn’t have to clean the bathrooms. Even in the girls’ dorm, they’re fucking disgusting.

**Cleaning job #1: **Papa Nihil’s rooms. The old man is usually up, wandering around in his bathrobe and pajamas, sans mitre and face paint. When she was a kid, she just thought he was a silly old grandpa. Now she honestly wonders just how human he actually is.

He always greets her kindly, on the rare occasion he realizes she’s there. Most of the time, she can switch out his linens, take away dirty dishes, and empty his trash cans without him ever knowing. However, there are times where the old man seems to snap back into himself, and is sharp as ever.

“Topolino! How is our little church mouse today?”

She smiles and gives him a thumbs up. She doesn’t know if he forgets she can’t speak, or if he’s just stuck in the habit of asking. She gestures to his desk, overflowing with papers, then holds up a trash can, and points inside.

“Ahh, no, no. Important Ministry business. Thank you, though. I appreciate the dedication to your work.”

I just don’t want my ass chewed for not cleaning up after you, she thought.

* * *

**Cleaning job #2:** Sister Imperator’s office. She refuses to let anyone into her private rooms, understandably so. She’s made a lot of enemies over the years, and in her advanced age, she doesn’t trust hardly anybody.

The Mouse has a very rigid list of chores to perform, and once they’re done, she has to leave immediately. Imperator doesn’t fuck around. She may have been incredibly generous to give The Mouse this position, but it wasn’t out of the kindness of her heart. Someone quiet, that could be almost invisible and keep information to themselves, is a valuable thing to have sometimes.

She silently slips into the office, taking the pile of discarded papers off the corner of the desk, and placing them in a special trash bag. Those have to be shredded, then incinerated. She moves quickly, the only sound the slight rustle of plastic.

Once the other tasks are complete, she moves a heavy paperweight from a stack of papers to the edge of the desk. That’s how Imperator knows she’s been there. If it’s still in that spot the next day, she doesn’t clean.

**Cleaning job #3: **Papa Emeritus I’s rooms. He wasn’t there very often at this time of day. He’d eat breakfast, then head out to the greenhouse and spend almost all day there. He might not have been a terribly impressive frontman for the Ghost project, but the guy could grow just about any plant he wanted.

There would be books on agriculture and horticulture on almost every surface. She could only move the books long enough to clean around them, then put them back, open to whatever page he was on. She only forgot to put them back once. He didn’t yell at her; he just gave her a look that she never wanted to see again.

The few times he actually spoke to her, he rambled, almost obsessively about a specific type of flower he was trying to breed. Two variations of roses, it sounded like, but it took generations of cutting and splicing stems to get the right genetic traits. It would have been interesting if anybody else described it, but he always made it sound dryer than a popcorn fart. She would always nod and raise her eyebrows at the appropriate times, though. Even if he was a nerd, he was still a Papa.

* * *

**Lunch time.** She never plans to eat with anyone, but someone always calls her over to their table anyway. It’s one of the few times she’s not expected to talk, since her mouth is almost constantly full. 

Sometimes she notices the Cardinal scurrying back to his office with his lunch. He started at the ministry when she was a little kid, and she’s always been surprised at how he managed to climb the ranks while being, in the most polite of terms, introverted. She’s never been allowed to clean his office, and the thought of what he’s got in there makes her nervous.

**Cleaning job #4:** Papa Emeritus II’s rooms. He scares the shit out of her. When he was in charge, leading sermons and the like, he was terrifying. His voice was too deep, and his eyes were always angry. 

He insists on being present while she cleans, but he rarely speaks to her. He would just sit in a chair and watch as she threw away papers, changed his sheets, and vacuumed under his desk. Sometimes, she got the feeling that he just like to intimidate her. Maybe it’s a power trip thing. Either way, she made sure to steer clear of him.

**Break time. **On Thursdays she cleans the library, but on the other 4 days, this is her hour of down time. Sometimes she takes a nap, sometimes she just sits outside in the courtyard and gets some sun. Sometimes, but not often, there’s a Sibling or ghoul that also has a free hour, and they spend some “study time” in an empty classroom or storage closet. Relaxation is great, so is bouncing on a ghoul’s dick for half an hour. Either way, it’s her hour to use as she pleases. 

* * *

**Cleaning job# 5:** Papa Emeritus III’s rooms. The man himself. Current leader of the church and frontman for the Ghost project. He was the worst to clean up after. At least the others had some semblance of privacy. Not Papa III. She would show up at 3 pm and he would just be getting out of bed, which was usually occupied with a few other people. She didn’t judge, but when she needs to change the linens, rolling half-asleep Siblings onto the floor just makes it take longer. 

He would frequently stroll around his rooms, in just his pajama pants, yammering about something fantastic that happened to him recently. A really good show, something fancy he bought. To her, it all reeked of overcompensation. “Look at me, I’m so handsome and talented and powerful, but probably completely dead and empty inside.”

She would be the picture of politeness, smiling and nodding and acknowledging everything he said. She’d never let her reaction go beyond that, though. It’s the same principle when dealing with children having temper tantrums, she thought. Don’t react, don’t give them the satisfaction. 

There were times where it seemed like he was desperately trying to get her attention or approval, and she almost considered asking Imperator if someone else could take that part of her duties. It’s a dangerous thing, to have the eye of a Clergy member. If they’re happy with you, it works out very well for you. If they’re not, your life will get a lot more difficult.

**Cleaning job #6:** The restricted wing. By far, the creepiest and quietest place in the entire Ministry. This is where they keep the Prime Movers, the women chosen to give birth to Emeritus heirs. There aren’t very many, so the work is quick, but it is so disturbing. 

They’re treated very well, private rooms and almost everything a person could ask for in regards to creature comforts, but they’re kept in total seclusion. They don’t even attend services. It’s almost like they don’t exist, except they’re carrying babies that could someday lead the church. It all reminds her of The Handmaid’s Tale, but they’re not here against their will. They consider it a great honor.

I don’t consider laying there while Papa II shoots his load a great honor, but whatever gets you off, she thought.

Sometimes, one will waddle up to her and say, “Feel this!” They grab her hand and plant it on their enormous belly, and she feels something moving under their skin. She usually has no problems with pregnancy or babies, but the idea of willingly giving birth to a kid you’re not going to raise, all for the future of the church, really freaks her out.

**End of the day.** After dinner, there’s always some kind of activity going on. Movies, jam sessions, impromptu dance parties. There was even once a gender-swap fashion show, and she was surprised to discover how many men in the Ministry were hiding fabulous legs in those pants.

More often than not, she meets with a group of ghouls that have been teaching her sign language over the years. It’s hard to convey emotion through a text-to-speech app, so it’s nice to be able to express herself completely, even if only a few people understand her.

She usually retired to her room before the craziness went full-swing. Handling other people’s garbage and laundry could be a lot of work at times, and it was just nice to sit in her room, doing whatever she wanted. Some nights she would doze off while reading, waking when her book smacked her in the nose. Some nights she would fall asleep with her record player going, usually playing something quiet like Bon Iver. Those were the nights where she didn’t notice the figure silently entering her room, gloved hands pulling her covers up over her legs, and turning off the stereo.

* * *

_He would stand next to her bed for several minutes, watching her sleep, listening to her slightly wheezy breathing. She never noticed him, awake or asleep, and she probably never would. He felt pathetic, admiring someone from afar, someone he would never stand a chance with. _

_She shifted in her sleep and let out a low purring sound. His hand immediately shot to his mouth and he looked down, mortified to discover he was getting hard. Without realizing, he had taken steps closer to the bed. Maybe…just maybe she was asleep enough, he could lay down next to her on the bed. Not close enough to touch, just-_

_NO. He would not do anything of the sort. That was inappropriate and offensive. He would just go back to his room, jerk off in the shower, and go to sleep. But, first…_

_He bent down over the bed, leaning as close as he could to her face. Carefully, he raised his trembling hand to his lips and softly kissed the tips of his fingers. With the gentlest touch, he grazed them across her cheek. _

_“Goodnight, Topolino” he breathed._


End file.
